I was speechless for several seconds. I didn’t have a good answer, not one that she’d be willing to accept anyway. “It doesn’t work like that,” I said lamely.
“Oh, c’mon,” she said. “Don’t give me that line. You’ve got to have some kind of code word, right? You just mention the word, and the Deputy Director goes all bug-eyed and sucks in a deep breath. Then he apologizes and rolls out a red carpet for you…or at least gets out of your way.”
“No,” I replied bluntly. “It doesn’t work like that. Look, Agent Rezvani, my protocols include avoiding all notice by the usual law enforcement agencies. As it is, I’ve already stepped too far onto the FBI’s radar. Pulling rank, as you put it, would just throw a great big spotlight onto me and my activities. I cannot afford to let that happen. As much as I appreciate the assistance you’ve provided so far, I’ll understand if your hands are now tied. I’m used to working alone.”
When Agent Rezvani spoke again, there was a subtle shift in her tone…just for a few words, but enough for me to discern it. She was hurt. “This case is important to me,” Rez said, and then her voice hardened once more. “And whoever you work for, you’re a heck’uva good investigator. Honestly, I thought you were our best chance of finding Smiling Jack. Now…now, I’m not so sure.”
The line went silent for several moments. I listened, absently realizing that I’d left Panama City Beach proper, and taken the exit for the White Sands Inn. Then, Rez said, “But, Mr. Spector…just so that we understand each other: you are Federally blocked from interfering on the Smiling Jack case. Any interference from you, any evidence that you are pursuing the case, any theories you withhold from the FBI—all of the above and more—will constitute a felony violation of the law. You will be arrested, jailed, and tried.”
“I understand,” I replied. “But, Agent Rezvani, there’s something that you need to understand as well: while we both want to keep Smiling Jack from killing again…our intended methods of accomplishing that are very different. I have a mission, and I intend to see it through.”
Agent Rezvani of the FBI ended the call. I drove on in silence. Ordinarily, I felt pretty confident in my decisions, especially when they led me to working alone. But this time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d made a mistake.
A mistake that, like an undersea quake, would send ripples into the future, unseen until they form a catastrophe.
The mission already felt like a catastrophe. In the past 48 hours, I’d managed to cut myself off from Doc Shepherd and Agent Rezvani, I’d attracted the murderous attention of an ancient Knightshade, and I’d lost my silver case. Oh, and I’d promised to deliver an undoubtedly treacherous message to one of my superiors, a superior so far up the chain of command that my actions might be construed as high treason. All in all, I’d had better weeks.
I pulled into the White Sands Inn parking lot. I had my hand on the door handle, and that’s when I remembered: all my money was in the silver case.
The silver case lay now in the custody of a ridiculously powerful Knightshade.
I restarted the car and parked it in a space facing east so that I’d wake with the sunrise. Then, I cut the engine, eased the seat back, and closed my eyes. I’d slept in worse places.
Chapter 24
It was Jack’s turn at the downstairs computer. He noted with a pang of guilt that his partner had logged sessions on their Manifesto four times since Jack last had. This wasn’t about second guessing. Jack was as clear on their mission now as he was nearly twenty years prior when he and Dr. Gary met, learned each other’s secret passions, and recognized that they had a role to play in changing the world for women.
No, the lack of effort on the computer was not about doubt. The hesitance came rather from the finality represented by the Manifesto. To complete and release this document, Jack knew, would spell the end of their efforts in this great battle. But not just that; it would mean the end of a very fulfilling relationship with Dr. Gary.
And, it would mean the end of their lives.
The thin line of the cursor blinked contemptuously at Jack. Such is life, Jack thought. Thin, mercurial, gone in an instant, and ultimately meaningless.
Meaningless for the individual, Jack corrected. But to leave something important for those who would come behind, well…that was something.
Jack nodded and stared back at the blinking cursor. Since he had special insights that Dr. Gary could not rightfully claim, the rationale section was left for Jack to complete. But thus far, that had proven difficult. Digging that deep into the past meant tearing the ragged scabs off old wounds.
Jack heard whimpering from down the hall. Pathetic whimpering. Jack snapped closed the silver laptop, a bit harder than he’d meant to, but the simpering cries grated on his nerves. He went through the door and a few steps down the narrow hall and aimed his voice at the kennel. “Why are you crying?” he yelled. “You’ve been fed!”
“We miss you!” a voice cried out. Jack thought sure it was Pamela. Only Pamela had the nerve to speak up like that. There were muted sobs and other voices: Midge and Carrie.
“I am so very sorry,” Jack called back, softening his tone. “Dr. Gary and I have important business to look after.”
“But we’re important, aren’t we?” Pamela asked, her voice tinged with more confidence than Jack had heard. “You haven’t played with us for three days!”
Jack was tempted to get the prod, but the process of discipline took a lot of time. More time than Jack could spare today. Of course, they didn’t understand the change in schedule. They don’t know I had to close the daycare. They don’t know the number of procedures that are piling up for Dr. Gary. They don’t know anything, really. “We will come play with you again soon,” Jack said. “I promise.”
“But you promised us before,” came mewling whine, punctuated with sobs. Midge.
“You shut your mouth!” Jack screamed venomously. “Don’t you dare stand in judgment over me!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…sorry,” Midge cried back.
“I miss Lucinda,” came a third voice, huskier, but frightened. Carrie. “I used to brush her pretty hair. And Erica, I used to braid her hair. I want them back.”
Jack swallowed back the heated bile that had risen in his throat. He mastered his tone to placate…to coddle…to reassure. “Please don’t be sad, my pets. Don’t you know how very special you all are? Each and every one of you, so very precious to me and to Dr. Gary. Destined for big things like your sisters before you. And you will join them soon enough.”
“We will?” Pamela chirped. But then, she said, “You’ve been saying that forever.”
You soonest of all, Jack thought. “Yes,” he said. “You will join your sisters very soon.”
“I can’t wait,” Carrie said.
Midge just cried, but it sounded less like misery and more like relief.
“There now,” Jack said. “You see? All will be well again soon. Now, please be silent. I have terribly difficult work ahead, and I will…not…be…disturbed…again.”
All sound from the kennel vanished. Jack returned to the kitchen, his soft chair in the corner, and the waiting laptop.
He opened it up, scowled at the blinking cursor, and went to work.
When free will is corrupted, he wrote, life is compromised. In fact, without the human imperative of choice, there can be no humanity…no life whatsoever. It is incumbent upon a just government to protect this, the greatest of all human freedoms. And no agency, public or private, may be permitted to interfere. For any dark act by such agency that hinders the will, will in fact call for drastic, secretive action. Dark things begin to occur.
Jack deleted the last sentence. It sounded too primitive, almost sensational. But it was true.
How he railed at me, Jack thought, images of his father coming unbidden and unwelcome. Nothing I could do was satisfactory because I was unsatisfactory to him. I was never strong enough to do the farm work. I was never ‘man’ enough
to do anything right. He almost killed me…but instead, I was reborn.
Jack remembered that incredible, liberating day so long ago…how sore he’d been from his father’s beatings over the weekend. And that particular day, school had held a book fair. Jack had used the money his mother had given him and bought the usual tripe. But he’d used his own hard-saved money for one particular book that he never showed his parents: Lizzy Borden, Fact & Fiction by R. Stewart Grady.
By the time Jack was twelve, he’d already imagined killing his father. But until finding the book, he’d never thought he could be smart enough to pull it off without getting caught. Lizzy Borden had done it, and she hadn’t been very smart. Her alibi’s were weak. She hadn’t put enough time or cleverness into planning. And the follow-through had been utterly sloppy. But she had gotten away with murder, and that had been enough to inspire Jack’s plan.
The pieces had been in place all along. He’d grown up on a boggy, half-wooded farm in rural Massachusetts. Jack’s father was a drinker. He’d cheated on Jack’s mother dozens of times and had a history of disappearing for weeks unannounced. While waiting for the spring thaw, Jack had spent months planning. He’d seen to every detail, predicted every investigative angle, and invented brilliant solutions. He chose not to force it, but rather plotted out potential opportunities. The weather was key. He needed an inbound deluge, a heavy, drenching rain. In Massachusetts, in late April, there were many such storms.
When the spring thaw began, Jack found the perfect sinkhole forming several hundred yards into the patchy pines that splotched the property. Five perfect storm fronts came and went before Jack was finally able to coax his father into position. But finally, it all came together. Jack’s mother had gone to visit her sister. She’d be gone for days. Jack’s father had spent the afternoon with a bottle of gin. He was moderately plowed when Jack approached with the story:
Jack claimed to have discovered evidence that Bill Ash, their hated neighbor, had come hunting again on their land. Jack’s father had just about burst a vein in his thick neck when he’d heard the news. He’d grabbed his shotgun and demanded that Jack show him the evidence. Jack was only too happy to oblige. With a mantle of dark storm clouds looming in the east, Jack and his father took the utility vehicle and traversed the property, arriving at last at the sinkhole. And there was the four-point buck, shot through with one of Ash’s compound bow arrows.
Jack’s father had worked himself up to a seething rage at the edge of that sinkhole. But Jack wasn’t going to let his father vent that anger. Never again. Jack kept himself behind his father and at an angle. His father never saw Jack remove the ten pound sledgehammer from behind the nearest pine. Jack had thought about using an axe—as an ode to Lizzy Borden—but refused to repeat her mistakes. With his father close enough to the sinkhole’s edge to be pushed in, Jack wheeled the sledge with all his might and slammed it between his father’s shoulder blades. Jack had heard a satisfying snapping crunch of bone. His father’s muffled cry was smothered by the pines. Jack’s father toppled into the sinkhole. He’d spun sideways in the fall and crashed down upon his own leg. Jack had heard the snap.
But his father hadn’t felt the leg. The damage done to his spine had paralyzed him. He stared up from the sinkhole, eyes roaming…frantically searching for help that would not come. His mouth gaped open and closed like a fish. Jack stood at the edge of the hole. Not too close, but near enough for his father to see him standing there.
Jack watched for a few moments. It had turned out even better than expected. His father would likely stay alive long enough for the storm to unleash its rage. The water and mud would pour in, and the sinkhole would swallow Jack’s father alive.
Jack had driven the utility vehicle back to the farmhouse. He’d planned it all out. He’d known that the storm would wash away every single trace of his journey back from the sinkhole.
At age fourteen, Jack had gotten away with his first murder. It would not be his last. Not by a long shot.
There came a mechanized hum from the elevator shaft, and Jack checked his watch. “Home early again,” Jack whispered. He looked guiltily at the Manifesto. “I haven’t gotten much accomplished.”
The elevator doors opened and shut. “Jack, Jack, where are you?” Dr. Gary called, urgency in his voice.
“Kitchen!” Jack called. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“Not what’s wrong,” Dr. Gary said, his smile an alabaster trench beneath the heavy mustache. “What’s right?”
“I could use some good news,” Jack said, glancing sidelong at the laptop.
“Ah,” Dr. Gary said. “Words coming slowly again?”
“My thoughts are heavy,” Jack replied. “Each word I write, each sentence, feels like closer to the end. Makes it harder.”
Dr. Gary nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can help you with that, if you think it would help.” He waited. Jack said nothing. “Well then, let me lighten your load. The FBI has finally reopened our case.”
Jack felt the tears coming on. “Erica served her purpose then,” he said.
“Yes, in a mighty way,” Dr. Gary replied. “The Deputy Director himself flew in to Pensacola. My friend Marc Jacobs—”
“He runs security at the clinic, right?”
“That’s right,” Dr. Gary said. “He told me we’ve got agents from Jacksonville and Mobile swarming into town.”
Jack sighed and put his head in his hands. He tried to fight the sobs, but they came shuddering through.
“Hey, hey, now,” Dr. Gary said, sitting down. “I thought this would be good news.”
“Don’t you see,” Jack said. “This is really it. The FBI will be on us and soon.”
“Not so soon,” Dr. Gary said, cupping Jack’s chin in his hand. “We’ve been very clean, and the trail they need to follow to find us will be very, very long. And in that time, we must not falter. We must not fail to make our message clear. Millions of women are counting on us. All that we’ve done, all of our planning and efforts, it has all been for this moment. And so, I think, we need to make our message clear. Even before we release the Manifesto.”
“Another body?” Jack asked, tears already drying.
“Yes,” Dr. Gary said. “I think we must make her count in an increasingly profound way.”
“May I choose?”
“Of course.”
“Pamela.”
“Excellent,” Dr. Gary said. “She has changed of late, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, and not for the better.” Jack sneered. “When?”
“Not tonight,” Dr. Gary said. “I have planning to do. I have the location, but I need to figure out the arrangement. And…I want to give you time to work on the Manifesto. Do you think you can finish the rationale this evening?”
“Yes,” Jack replied, looking at the blinking cursor. “I will finish.”
Dr. Gary leaned down and kissed Jack full on the mouth. “Don’t forget, we have one more grand party to attend.”
“I won’t forget,” Jack said.
Dr. Gary stood up to leave, but paused with his hand on the corner of the wall by the elevator. “Tell me something, Jack,” Dr. Gary said. “Do you blame your father or your mother for all that you have become?”
A chill ran up Jack’s spine. The question had so many layers. But Jack had explored every nuance ten-thousand times. “I don’t blame my father or my mother,” he said. “I hate them both for what they did to me, but I do not blame them. I live for much, much more than revenge.”
Dr. Gary smiled proudly. “I could not have asked for a better partner in life,” he said. Then, he disappeared around the corner.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The cursor still blinked on the same line.
Jack had gone deep into his mind, remembering Dear Father and Dear Mother…and tracing the steps that led to today. He’d lied to Dr. Gary. Jack did blame his parents…for everything. They had warped him body and soul. Jack thought about all he’d
been through, how it had shaped him utterly. In fact, how easily the pronouns flowed, even in thought: he, him, his…
But it was all an act. From Father on down the line, they thought they could take identity away, force identity to their own wishes, and by brute force turn fantasy into reality. But all they had ever really done is turn reality into fantasy.
Jack slid her hand across the material of the flannel shirt, felt the bulge of her breasts, painfully flattened by the gauze, but still there. Then, she reached down and let her hand rest lightly on her right thigh. She would never have a child of her own.
They had taken that away. And they would likely take her life in the end. But Jack shrugged. It would all be worth it if she could make them all understand. Then, maybe, no one else would have to suffer under the iron grip of a society that took everything away from women…even their most sacred, private choices.
Having finished her rationale, Jack closed the Manifesto. The more she considered the title, the more she hated it…but approved of it all the same.
A Reditum Ad Tenebrosi Temporis
A Return to Dark Times.
Chapter 25
Sooner or later, I’d have to face Forneus the Felriven.
I need my silver case, and not just because I was hungry. Though to be truthful, one hour after sunrise, I was ravenously famished. It didn’t help that I’d passed three Waffle Houses as I’d driven north on Route 231. I stared straight ahead, until each of the black-lettered yellow signs passed behind me. I may have mentioned I have a weakness for hash browns.
Food money aside, my silver case had all of my tools—except for the Edge. Without those tools, my chances of success on the Smiling Jack case were exponentially diminished. But if I went back to Forneus without first delivering the message, I’d likely lose the silver case and the mission. Even if I delivered the message to Anthriel as directed, there was still a reasonably high chance of me ending up…ended.
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